More Than Words Can Say

by Robert Barclay

  Chelsea nodded.

  “Did it upset you?” Brandon asked.

  “A little, I guess,” Chelsea answered. “I have no way of knowing what the rest of the journal will reveal, but one thing is becoming certain.”

  “What is that?” Brandon asked.

  Before answering, Chelsea gazed at the fire. “Brooke’s heart was becoming torn,” she said. “And I can also sense that it goes deeper than the mere words that she wrote down. It’s as if I can literally feel what was happening to her. Call it a ‘woman thing,’ if you want, but with the reading of each new entry, I can literally experience her world starting to turn upside down. And I can also sense that it was beginning to scare her.”

  Brandon nodded. “I know,” he answered compassionately. “All of which makes me wonder what happens next.”

  Suddenly feeling vulnerable, Chelsea edged nearer to him on the sofa.

  “I wonder that too,” she answered as a charred log slipped farther down in the fireplace grate. Then she turned and looked into his eyes. “But I do know one thing for sure.”

  “And what’s that?” he asked.

  At last, Chelsea gave him a little smile.

  “I’m really glad that you’re taking this journey with me,” she answered.

  Saying nothing more, Brandon put one arm around her shoulders.

  Chapter 18

  Later the following afternoon, Chelsea sat on her porch, thinking. There was so much more that she wanted to know about Brooke’s summer here so long ago, and with each bit of information she gleaned, her curiosity only deepened.

  But was she making too much of all this? she wondered. Many people would probably think so. If Brooke did have an affair, of what possible importance could it be now? And why go rummaging around in someone else’s past when it might only dredge up more harm than good?

  But Chelsea knew the answers to those questions, and she would not be dissuaded. By asking Chelsea to read her journal, Brooke told her that she wanted her to know what had happened during that final summer. Chelsea had silently vowed to honor her late grandmother’s wishes, and so she would. But there was another, perhaps even more important reason to do this.

  Since Chelsea had been old enough to remember, Brooke had always suffered a special sort of sadness all her own. Her car crash had been both awful and life changing. But as Chelsea grew older and wiser, she came to suspect that Brooke’s accident alone was not the full cause of her sorrow. Although it was only through death that Brooke finally defeated her wheelchair, she had never railed against being in it, either. Instead, she had found ways to continue enjoying her two great loves—cooking and painting. No, Chelsea knew. It was not just the accident or its aftermath that had so distressed Brooke. To a far greater extent, the true culprit had been whatever occurred during her final summer there at Lake Evergreen—the same summer that she described in her journal.

  In all the time that Chelsea had known her grandmother, Brooke was never so melancholy as when someone happened to mention her abandoned cottage or when asked why she never returned there. It was not a despair so great that it caused her to break out in tears—at least not that Chelsea had ever seen. Rather, Brooke’s reaction was always a sort of great wistfulness, a seemingly huge sense of regret over what might have been. After announcing that she wished to hear of it no more, she would usually wheel herself out onto the porch, where she could paint in solitude. And because of that, the family eventually stopped mentioning Lake Evergreen and the lovely cottage that had been closed up for so long. Indeed, until Chelsea learned that it had been she who had inherited the cottage, the place had almost been wiped from her thoughts.

  Chelsea turned in her chair and gazed briefly at the mysterious old journal that lay atop the dining table. Those pages hold the answers, she thought. Brooke wanted someone to know, and she chose me . . .

  Chelsea looked at her watch to see that it was nearly four P.M. She then casually gazed down the shoreline, looking for Brandon. Although his Jeep and floatplane were in evidence, she didn’t see him. Exhausted from their wanderings, Dolly and Jeeves lay dead asleep atop a stretch of shaded sand. The lake was calm, with but a few passing pleasure craft, and in a few hours the sun would begin its nightly descent. Then Brandon would come over, and he and Chelsea would explore another excerpt from Brooke’s journal.

  To her pleasant surprise, Chelsea had become patient regarding the journal. When she had first arrived here, it had been all she could do to keep from devouring it in a single sitting. She still could, of course, should she wish to. But by now she very much enjoyed the idea of waiting for Brandon and sharing the journal with him. She greatly valued his quiet strength and his unbiased viewpoint. Also, he seemed to be her emotional compass, always bringing her back to reality if something in the journal set her emotionally adrift. Moreover, reading only one excerpt at a time allowed her the chance to process what she had learned and to enjoy the anticipation until next time. Although she and Brandon had read only one excerpt together, Chelsea was absolutely convinced that more revelations awaited them.

  “A penny for your thoughts!” a voice suddenly said.

  Startled, Chelsea swiveled in her chair. Brandon stood on the other side of the screen door, medical bag in hand.

  “May I come in?” he asked.

  Before beckoning him inside, Chelsea waggled an accusatory index finger at him.

  “You know,” she said, “you’ve got to stop doing that! It scares me to death! So, I’ll tell you what. Now that I’m pretty sure you’re not an ax murderer, you can enter my place unannounced—provided that you grant me the same privilege. Do we have a deal?”

  Brandon nodded happily. “Sorry,” he answered. “I guess I’m still not used to having a neighbor! Anyway, I’ve come to tell you that if you want to read some more of Brooke’s journal tonight, it’ll have to be a bit later than usual. I have to follow up on that baby girl with the flu that I told you about. Her mother just called and asked me to come back out. But I should be home in time for us to read a bit more, if you want. And after that,” he added slyly, “you can cook a late dinner for us.”

  Chelsea nodded. “Okay,” she answered. “And yes, I’m eager to read some more of it, too. But I’d rather wait for you.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” he answered.

  Brandon then looked out at the lake, where his red and white floatplane tugged gently at her anchor. The sky was clear and the winds were light. Lovely flying weather, he realized. As an idea formed in his mind, he smiled again. When he looked back at Chelsea, she realized that something was brewing.

  “Okay, out with it,” she ordered. “There’s no escaping it, Dr. Yale. I know that look by now.”

  “Come with me,” he said simply. “I’d love to have you along for the ride.”

  “But . . . you’re taking the plane, right?” she asked.

  The twinkle in Brandon’s eye grew brighter. “Yep,” he answered.

  Chelsea pointed at the floatplane. “That very little plane?” she asked rhetorically.

  “Do you see another one out there?” he asked.

  Oh, God, she thought. Now what do I do?

  “I don’t know . . . ,” she answered. “I’ve never been up in one of those. Are they dangerous?”

  “Well,” he said, “let me think. The weather is perfect, I’ve flown this route several times, and I’m an experienced army pilot. No, you’re right. We’d probably never make it back alive.”

  Despite her continued misgivings, Chelsea snorted out a short laugh. She very much wanted to spend time with him. And because this was his first request that they do something together, she felt that she mustn’t decline, lest she appear uninterested. But the other part of her—the sensible, city-girl part—was scared silly to think of herself soaring around in some flimsy little airplane over great stretches of relative wilderness.

  “What about the woman who asked you to come out?” she asked, secretly hoping that her question
might dissuade him. “Won’t she think it’s odd if I’m tagging along?”

  Brandon shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I’ve known her for a long time, and I’m sure that she’ll enjoy meeting you. What’s the matter? Your life insurance is paid up, isn’t it?”

  Chelsea scowled. “Very funny,” she answered. “All right, damn it. I’ll go. But if we both die in a crash, I’ll kill you!”

  “If we die, I’ll let you,” Brandon replied. “Now go and grab a jacket. It’ll be close to dark by the time we get back, and it can get chilly up there.”

  Marvelous, Chelsea thought as she went to fetch her leather jacket. Not only do I get to be petrified, but I’m going to have my butt frozen off, too. When she returned with her coat, she took another moment to look at Brandon’s handsome face. The hell of it is, she thought, he’s worth it . . .

  After locking up their cottages, Brandon and Chelsea walked to the end of Brandon’s dock, where his aluminum fishing boat lay tied up. Brandon helped Chelsea into the boat, then he too got in, untied it, and rowed them out to the floatplane. On circling around to the passenger side, he opened the door for Chelsea and helped her in. He then paddled around to the pilot’s side, tied the boat’s rope to the mooring line, unhooked the plane, and clambered up inside with his medical bag.

  Although Chelsea found the cockpit to be cramped, there seemed to be no end to the various dials, knobs, and switches laid out before her. Like most people unaccustomed to piloting a plane, her first glimpse of its control systems was hugely daunting. As Brandon secured her seat belt for her, she pointed at the dashboard.

  “How in the world does anyone remember what all of these thingamajigs are for?” she asked. “It’d take me a lifetime to understand them all.”

  Brandon levered open his side window at the bottom to let in some fresh air. “I know it seems confusing,” he said. “But once you understand that everything has its own purpose, it all falls into place. And to prove the point, once we’re upstairs I’m going to let you fly her.”

  Chelsea was aghast. “Like hell!” she answered. “No way, no how!”

  Brandon laughed. “Let’s get up there, and then we’ll see. Who knows—you might just change your mind.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that, if I were you,” she answered.

  Chelsea watched as Brandon fiddled with a few knobs and switches and then turned the ignition key. The motor coughed twice, spat out some dark smoke, and promptly died.

  “That was comforting . . . ,” Chelsea said.

  “No worries,” Brandon answered. “Like another female I know, she’s sometimes stubborn.”

  “Ha-ha,” Chelsea answered.

  Undaunted, Brandon repeated the process. This time the motor roared into life, the whirling propeller immediately becoming little more than a circular, telltale blur. Chelsea was surprised at how loud it was inside the cockpit, and the entire plane vibrated as if angrily demanding an immediate release into the sky. As the reality of actually going flying sank in, Chelsea grabbed the door handle so firmly that her knuckles turned white.

  After checking a few of the gauges and setting the flaps, Brandon gave the plane a quick shot of power and then turned her into the wind, simultaneously making sure that they were well clear of the moored fishing boat. As he did, the waves noisily sloshed the plane back and forth a bit, adding to Chelsea’s growing distress.

  Brandon gave her a comforting look. “Ready?” he asked.

  “I guess so . . . ,” she answered.

  “Okay, then. Here we go.”

  Chelsea watched Brandon turn the plane a bit more westerly, then he opened up the throttle. As the Cessna gathered speed, the noise from the engine became a deafening roar. Faster and faster they went until Brandon gently lifted the nose, and the floatplane finally slipped the watery bonds of Lake Evergreen.

  As they climbed, Chelsea discovered that with the plane angled upward, there was nothing to see out of the windshield but clouds and sky. So she glanced out her side window as the earth and everything upon it grew progressively smaller. Brandon soon leveled off and then circled Lake Evergreen so that Chelsea could get her first bird’s-eye view of the lake. It was fairly circular and larger than she had imagined. Climbing the plane again, Brandon set a course for their destination.

  Once he reached cruising altitude, Brandon throttled back and let the plane level out again. Now Chelsea could see not only the ground from her side window but also the land and sky stretching out before them. With the throttle reduced, the conditions inside the cockpit became a little quieter.

  After making another small course correction, Brandon lifted a set of combination headphones and microphone dangling from a dashboard hook, and he told her to put them on. He also donned a pair.

  After flipping a switch on the dashboard, he said, “How’s that?”

  For the first time since getting into the plane, Chelsea smiled. Not only did the headphones shut out much of the engine noise, she could also hear Brandon much easier.

  “Yes!” she answered. “This is better!” As she finally started to relax, she released her grip on the door handle. “So where are we going?” Chelsea asked.

  “Toward a lake called Devil’s Pond,” Brandon answered. “Getting there won’t take long.”

  As they continued toward their destination, Brandon took the opportunity to explain the dials, gauges, and switches. As he did, he found her to be a quick study. He momentarily thought about showing her how to use the controls, then decided that it might be best left for another time. Soon, Devil’s Pond loomed up ahead.

  Brandon pointed at the lake. “There it is,” he said.

  Like the time before, he buzzed Claire’s trailer to let her know he had arrived. Just as Claire had promised, Pug’s truck wasn’t in evidence. When Claire started walking toward the lakeshore, Brandon began setting up his landing. With the wind again in his favor, he put the plane into a descent and lined her up for the final approach. Almost before Chelsea knew it, the Cessna’s two floats hit the water once, then again, and the plane finally settled down.

  As Brandon taxied toward the dock, he looked at Chelsea and asked, “That wasn’t so bad, right? It seems that we lived, after all!”

  Chelsea couldn’t help but smile. “No,” she answered, “not bad at all. In fact, it was kind of fun.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that,” Brandon answered as he cut the motor and they drifted nearer.

  Chelsea unfastened her seat belt and removed her headphones. “So who are this woman and child we’ve come to see?” she asked casually.

  “Claire Jennings and her daughter, Rachel,” Brandon answered. “Claire’s husband is called Pug.”

  Chelsea’s heart skipped a beat. Pug Jennings? she thought. That’s the man who caused the trouble in Beauregard’s! Oh, God . . . Plus, I never told Brandon about it, because I didn’t see any need. . .

  As they coasted closer to the dock, Chelsea reached out and touched Brandon on one arm. He immediately recognized the troubled look on her face.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Worried about having to fly back home?” Then he laughed a little. “I could ask Claire to drive you back on Pug’s Harley, but I can pretty much guarantee that you’d find the experience even scarier than the plane ride.”

  “No, no,” Chelsea answered urgently. “It isn’t that at all. But before we get out of the plane, there’s something you need to know.”

  Chelsea quickly explained what had happened at Beauregard’s. As her story evolved, Brandon’s expression darkened.

  “Well,” he said, “I certainly wish that you’d told me sooner. But don’t worry—Pug isn’t here. And besides, Claire isn’t like him. But to be on the safe side I’ll make this quick, and then we’ll get going again.”

  Just then one of the floats gently bumped the dock, and Claire began securing the plane. Before opening his door, Brandon paused and gazed meaningfully into Chelsea’s eyes. His expression was stern but co
mpassionate.

  “I’m sorry about what happened back at Beauregard’s,” he said quietly. “Life up here can be hard, and it sometimes changes folks for the worse. But whenever I’m around, you’ll never have to suffer that kind of trouble again, I promise you.”

  Chelsea found herself deeply affected by his words, his strength, his sudden display of intimacy. He had just promised to protect her, and the tug on her heart was the strongest ever.

  Wow . . . , she found herself thinking. No other man has ever spoken to me quite like that. . .

  Moments later, Brandon and Chelsea were standing on Claire Jennings’s ramshackle dock. Chelsea wondered what kept it from collapsing into the lake. Claire’s hair had been put up in a scrunchie, and she wore an old housecoat and a pair of dingy Keds.

  Brandon gestured first toward Claire, then Chelsea. “Claire Jennings . . . Chelsea Enright,” he said. “Chelsea inherited the cottage next to mine. She’s here for the summer.”

  Claire smiled and held out one hand. “Pleased to meetcha,” she said.

  “And you,” Chelsea answered.

  While shaking Claire’s hand, Chelsea felt some rough calluses, doubtless earned from many hours of hard, physical work. By now, Chelsea realized that living in such an isolated spot presented its own set of unique challenges. Her sympathy for Claire’s plight only increased as Claire’s eyes enviously poured over Chelsea’s clothes and makeup.

  Life has been hard for this woman, Chelsea thought. And I know why . . .

  Eager to see Rachel, Brandon cleared his throat. “So how’s the baby?” he asked.

  Suddenly jarred free of her reveries, Claire looked back at Brandon and shook her head. “She’s still feverish,” she answered, “and now she’s wheezing a bit. I’m getting scared for her, Brandon.”

  Brandon nodded. “Let’s go, then,” he said.

  As the three of them neared the trailer, Chelsea scanned the run-down property and became further saddened by what she saw. When she entered the trailer, her overall impression didn’t improve much.